


Trust

by ivy



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Friendship, Loyalty, Missing Scene, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:24:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivy/pseuds/ivy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither trust nor friendship come easily, especially when they are thrust upon you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kmo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmo/gifts).



The next petitioners were unexpected.

Sidonie, sitting at her mother’s right hand, would have recognized the first two women without the herald’s announcement. From this distance, the mote in Phèdre nó Delaunay’s eye was not visible, but the dark hair and figure were unmistakable. At Phèdre’s side was a woman with red hair, equally distinctive: the head of the Order of Naamah was often in court to advise Ysandre. Both at ease in Ysandre’s hall, they advanced towards Sidonie, and only then did Sidonie notice a third person, walking behind Bérèngere and Phèdre, with the same red hair.

“Phèdre, Bérèngere, this is unexpected,” said Ysandre, voicing Sidonie’s thought. Throughout the day they had heard from a string of men and women seeking arbitration about property infringement and trade, mostly from the City. There had even some supplicants from outside the City, appealing over the heads of their provincial courts. As part of her education, Sidonie sat in on the occasional hearings, absorbing the proceedings. Now Sidonie glanced sideways and saw that her mother was frowning slightly. “I have always made it clear that you can seek a private interview with me without going through the courts.”

Bérèngere looked at Sidonie for a long moment, then addressed Ysandre. “We wanted the dauphine to hear this from us.” The third woman—perhaps a year or two older than herself, Sidonie judged—stepped forward, but stayed silent. Behind the little group, the large doors at the end of the hall closed soundlessly, the guards and hangers-on moving outside without a word at Ysandre’s gesture. “Sidonie is in a delicate position as your heir. The young nobles that hang about your court are here for their own political gain, and there have always been whispers about suitability.”

Ysandre did not react. “These are problems that have existed for all heirs, and Sidonie is no different.” 

Sidonie was watching the face of the young woman, who looked like she was waiting patiently. Most petitioners were either wholly engrossed with their petition or else distracted by the grandness of the Palace hall, but this one was different.

“We thought that it would do Sidonie good if she had a companion that was discreet. Someone she could trust.” Phèdre gestured to the young woman standing next to her. “This is Amarante, Bérèngere’s daughter, lately of the Temple of Naamah.” Amarante looked directly at Sidonie then, and with a jolt Sidonie saw that her eyes were shockingly green. Already feeling uneasy, she was not reassured by Phèdre’s next words. “Sidonie, Amarante has agreed to become your companion until you reach your majority.”

Sidonie kept her mouth shut, waiting for her mother to speak. In the court, Ysandre’s voice was law, and any ill-advised ideas had always been rejected promptly. It was well-meaning of Phèdre nó Delaunay and Bérèngere, but they would manage. As Ysandre said, they had always managed.

To Sidonie’s surprise, Ysandre turned to her. “What do you think, Sidonie?” Her mother was testing her, perhaps, but Sidonie struggled briefly to couch the question _how can I trust you_ in polite language. Then again, she had a reputation as icy to maintain, so she asked the question outright and waited for the reaction. 

“My mother and the countess of Montrève have and will speak for me, and so will the priests and priestesses who taught me. But you needn’t trust me immediately, and I do not mean to steal the place of any friends you already have.” Her voice was mild, and so was her face. Those green eyes met Sidonie’s steadily, and Sidonie, looking as always for true intentions, realized that Amarante was being truthful.

“I think it is well-thought,” said Ysandre at length. “Amarante, will you swear now?”

The urge to say _no_ rudely was on the tip of her tongue, but she held it. Not for nothing had she listened to her mother talk about politics and statecraft; she could hold her tongue for this audience and see what Amarante was like later. 

Amarante nodded, and Sidonie stood up and stepped off the dais to face Amarante. She clasped Amarante’s hand loosely as Amarante agreed to serve Sidonie alone, above all others, and to render Sidonie any services necessary. Sidonie assented to her own part, and kissed Amarante quickly, releasing her hands as soon as she could. Amarante smiled gently at her, and Sidonie tried futilely to find something repellent in Amarante herself.

*

Ysandre arranged for Amarante to have quarters adjacent to Sidonie, arranged a guard for Amarante in case it was needed, and settled Amarante into place with the efficiency that had characterized her rule. 

Instead of walking about by herself—or unavoidably tailed by a guard—she now had to take Amarante everywhere except private audiences. Publicly Sidonie ignored Amarante, and privately she did the same. In the evenings she would go to her rooms and close her door, mercifully alone. Amarante didn’t press her, and Sidonie couldn’t find fault with her at all; Amarante stayed in the shadows whenever Sidonie’s presence was requested, and appeared when Sidonie needed something. Sometimes she sent Amarante on long errands so that Sidonie could do things like breathe without a person standing nearby. At dinner, at breakfast, when she had free time, Amarante followed unobtrusively, and to make things worse, no matter how icy Sidonie was, Amarante was unruffled. Most of the nobles her age learned to back away when she changed the tone of her voice, but Amarante was unfazed.

They had done two or three weeks of this before Sidonie realized that it must have been her mother’s instructions. No matter how little they spoke, Sidonie was beginning to understand how Amarante acted, and to hound her mistress seemed out of place. Not once had Amarante pressed her about her opinions, or feelings, or thoughts; she simply was there whenever Sidonie needed someone at hand. 

Outside Ysandre’s study window, fat flakes of snow were falling. The snow hadn’t helped Sidonie’s feelings of being trapped, but once in her mother’s study, she didn’t want to get angry either. The desk was heaped with parchment, and she had passed another advisor on the way in.

“Mother, what have you set Amarante to?”

Ysandre glanced up, looking behind Sidonie, but there was no one waiting for admittance. “I asked her to be your companion.”

“She will not leave my side,” said Sidonie. “Surely that’s not what you intended?”

“Phèdre and Bérèngere are right.” She held up a hand to forestall Sidonie. “You need someone who you can trust.”

There was no reply to be made to this, because Sidonie couldn’t think of anyone she could bring up to counter the statement. Instead she stared at her mother and said: “Will you let her stop? I tell her to stop, but she's obliged to listen to you.”

*

It helped, but not enough. And worse than Amarante’s calmness was that Sidonie did want her. The bright hair had come from her mother, but the green eyes were another matter entirely, and Sidonie avoided looking straight into those eyes. Doing so seemed to acknowledge that terrible feeling of caring too much.

Sidonie thought of this as she went to find Alais; Mother was hosting a formal state dinner and they would both need to appear, at least. Amarante was in Sidonie’s apartments, sifting through things for the evening. Perhaps it would have been better to send Amarante to find Alais—or even one of the many servants that were around—but the servants were busy preparing and it felt like an imposition on Amarante. The more helpful Amarante was, the worse Sidonie felt, and the more awkward the entire arrangement was. Sidonie had gathered from elsewhere that Amarante had been preparing for her final year as an acolyte—it was common knowledge among those with ties to Naamah’s Order. Amarante was rather distinctive, but beyond the basic facts Sidonie had gleaned little. From those reports it seemed that Amarante was as close-mouthed as any priest, but no one had aught but praise for her. 

Sidonie found Alais in the Palace gardens playing. Guardsmen hovered unobtrusively by the perimeter, but she couldn’t very well ask them to bring Alais to her rooms.

“Alais, we have to go.”

Alais looked up. “There’s still time before we have to get ready,” she said defensively. 

“That’s not true and you know it,” said Sidonie, exasperated. “Come on.”

When she had hauled Alais to her chambers and left her to get ready under the eyes of Alais’ nurse, she went into her own quarters to get dressed herself. 

“Did you find Alais?”

Sidonie nodded. Alais was usually in her quarters, with her tutors, or in the Palace gardens; she rarely left the Palace except when the entire royal family left. Still turning the thought in her mind, Sidonie sat down and held still as Amarante started brushing her hair, separating the heavy strands into sections with one hand to brush properly. The hairbrush slid rhythmically down her hair and Sidonie let herself be lulled into peacefulness. She didn’t realize she had spoken aloud until she heard Amarante’s response.

“Alais doesn’t enjoy court at all,” said Amarante, and Sidonie started. “She’s overshadowed by you and doesn’t look like the d’Angeline court either.”

“I know that. But she spends so much time with cousin Imriel and before I thought she was just shy around strangers.” The brush paused as Amarante encountered a knot, then resumed working. “She doesn’t want to be around me because I spend my time with Mother and her duties.”

“You visit her every morning and throughout the day, and there’s only so much time that you can spare.”

Sidonie almost said that it was still her fault, that Alais would blend in better if Sidonie only spent enough time with her, but caution still stopped her. Instead she let pleasant silence fall until Amarante finished with Sidonie’s hair and went to fetch the dress. Standing to let Amarante get to the laces at the back of her day dress, she stared at the sleek dark dress laid out over the back of the chair, but her attention was fixed on Amarante’s hands.

Amarante murmured something and the dress fell from Sidonie’s shoulders. It might have been the intimacy of dressing, or that they had spent months—Sidonie had spent months—avoiding any overtures of friendship and she was tired, suddenly, of biting her lip. Amarante had paid her duty in silence and had never, so far as Sidonie could tell, told anyone of what went on in her mistress' chambers. She caught at Amarante's hands—cool and deft, they had been, undoing the laces—and said: "Will you come to the fête with me tonight?"

She had no need to look for Amarante's affirmation, but looked anyway to see her smile.

**Author's Note:**

> We have the same headcanons, kmo :D I am sorry I couldn't incorporate more Phèdre in this, though; I imagine that Bérèngere must have schemed together some night just before this. 
> 
> As for the first kiss, I took some from the homage that Galbert of Bruges, circa 1130, describes:
> 
> "They performed homage in this fashion: the court inquired if [the prospective vassal] wished completely to become his man. He replied "I do wish it," and with his hands joined and covered by the hands of the count, the two were united by a kiss..."


End file.
